The Shortest Month

Yes it's that time, once again, when major retailers, social media platforms, tech companies, and other merchants dust off their "black history month" symbols and proudly hang them as a symbol of their stand with "us" black folks in our "struggle and plight." But this synthetic allyship has worn thin in the minds of folks like me...including the likes of Morgan Freeman, who's known for saying years ago in a TV interview that black history shouldn't be relegated to the shortest month of the year.

His comment resonated as completely true and reasonable—citing a reality that should have been standard practice for decades now. Really, though, what made his statement so notable wasn't the cleverness of the soundbite, but the depth of its critique.

America's Habit of Overcorrection

Our nation has a tendency—not always ill-motivated, but often counterproductive—to overcorrect for perceived past ills by issuing edicts, pronouncements, national recognitions, and commemorations. These well-intentioned gestures often produce the opposite of their stated aim: they create a separateness and specialness where there really should be none.

The more appropriate response would be straightforward: recognize all meaningful contributions to our nation's history and identity. When discussing individuals or groups whose contributions warrant mention, their ethnicity might naturally come up in context. But it shouldn't be specialized, shouldn't be framed as somehow transcending normal human achievement to the point of lionization.

Something like might have been warranted decades ago, but we're long past that now.

The Patronization Embedded in February

Freeman understood what most miss: there's no real philosophical need to spotlight black people in some distinct and separate way—as if, on the one hand, they're so exceptional that they rise above their white counterparts, or on the other hand, they've surmounted such extraordinary challenges that their achievements must be framed as superhuman in the face white oppression.

Black History Month perpetuates the very narrative it claims to remedy. It communicates that black people remain so far behind that they require special recognition, special treatment, special allowances at every turn. February becomes one more piece of that larger problematic framing.

That's the patronization Freeman rejected. Black history is American history; it should be integrated throughout the year—not called out for special emphasis, but seamlessly included whenever we discuss the American story.

What Integration Actually Requires

Include whoever's heritage and legacy warrant inclusion, full stop. Make it seamless, make it practically indistinguishable from the broader American narrative.

In practice, this means recognizing worthy contributors in the natural course of examining historical events, movements, and achievements. Let it be but a passing reference that someone happened to be of African descent, voiced only when relevant to the broader context—not merely because someone's ethnicity differs from others in the discussion.

When teaching post-Reconstruction America, Booker T. Washington's philosophy of self-reliance and institution-building belongs in that examination—not segregated into a "black history" unit, but integrated into the natural flow of discourse on how Americans rebuilt after civil war. When covering law enforcement history, Bass Reeves appears alongside other notable frontier lawmen. When discussing agricultural innovation, George Washington Carver's research emerges wherever we examine scientific advancement.

Stop calling it out and treating it as special. Period.

The Core Principle

Don't ignore contributors to American history who happen to be black. But don't call them out as special, either. That's the heart of the problem.

Treating black history as fundamentally other, fundamentally requiring special handling—that might have served some useful purpose many years ago, but it no longer does. We should be recognized simply as Americans. Skin color deserves barely a mention, if any, unless some exceedingly noteworthy circumstance connects directly to that person's ethnicity in a objectively, historically valuable way.

Plain and simple.

The Self-Refuting Contradiction

The internal contradiction becomes impossible to ignore here. The civil rights movement rightly invoked Acts 10:34-35, where Peter proclaims, "I most certainly understand now that GOD is not one to show partiality." The King James renders it: GOD "is no respecter of persons." The assertion is clear: GOD sees all men equally.

To be fair, this point has been pressed legitimately and accurately by many in civil rights and similar movements. It represents a driving, crucial consideration—a universal axiom that the Creator of all men does not see or treat them differently based on skin color or any human-designated category.

The problem emerges in the next breath. Those same voices typically undermine their own argument by making a case for why black people should receive special treatment. That's self-refuting. You cannot appeal to divine impartiality while simultaneously demanding human partiality. Either we're equal before GOD, or we're not. Either our shared humanity transcends ethnic particularity, or it doesn't.

What Teachers Should Actually Do

If I were advising a history teacher or curriculum developer today, the instruction would be direct: eliminate the "black history" designation, or at minimum de-emphasize it dramatically. Abandon the February model—"this is when we recognize the black part"—and integrate these contributions where they naturally fall throughout the year's curriculum.

When discussing the slave trade—and yes, we should discuss that as it remains part of American history—acknowledge that slave owners weren't exclusively white. Some of the earliest slaveholders were themselves black, including Anthony Johnson and others.

Don't exclude it. Don't spotlight it. Just include it.

The Body Working Together

This connects to Paul's framework in 1 Corinthians 12, particularly relevant for those addressing the church—people who profess faith in Christ. Given the axiom that GOD shows no partiality, that He is no respecter of persons, believers should be certain in their hearts and minds about what follows: GOD has assembled His body—the church universal, the church militant on earth—to serve as His guiding light, His gospel-proclaiming people, His ambassadors to a fallen world.

He's called us to serve in the ways He's designed us, to complement each other, to function together holistically while proclaiming the gospel above all earthly matters. The body has many parts, each with distinct functions, none inherently superior to others. The crucial point: these parts collaborate as one integrated body, not as separate systems coordinating occasionally from a distance.

Time to Move On

Really folks, let's "come off it," as the Brits would say. The trope has been completely exhausted. It's long past time we recognize the present reality: all people, including the highly melanated, enjoy immense privilege richly afforded us by the combined efforts of all our forebears.

February is the shortest month. If nothing else, perhaps that's befitting a practice that has outlived its usefulness.